


The Forester of Western Woodland

by Intoxicated_Lynx



Series: Frenzy and Love in Bunnyburrow [3]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: 19th Century, Anal Sex, Ancestors, Bisexual Male Character, Christmas, Gay, Gay Sex, Knotting, M/M, Painful Sex, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intoxicated_Lynx/pseuds/Intoxicated_Lynx
Summary: In the mid-1800s, on Christmas Day, Stu Hopps's great-great-grandfather, Fergus Hopps, hears a rumor of a hermit forester living in Bunnyburrow's largest forest, Western Woodland. Morbid curiosity gets a hold of him, and he travels to this mysterious man, wanting to fulfill his wildest mating fantasies. However, he realizes too late that his man is not your ordinary male-lover...
Relationships: Fergus Hopps (OC)/The Forester (OC), Gideon Grey/Stu Hopps
Series: Frenzy and Love in Bunnyburrow [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1400620
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	The Forester of Western Woodland

For me, there had always been something soothing about the way snow crunched under one's feet. It created one of those unusual sounds that were simultaneously soft, yet somehow firm. 

A starlit night sky and a myriad of spruces accompanied me as I roamed the grandest forest of Bunnyburrow, the Western Woodland. Without my faithful lantern, it would've been pitch dark. The weather was glacial, but thankfully I was warmly clothed and wearing heavy boots that protected my soles from the frozen forest path on which I was walking. Now, one might ask, who in their right mind would maintain such a track in the middle of nowhere. Well, I was just about to find out myself.

"What a burden this is... First, I had to trudge in the snow for so long, and now I can barely see anything!" I thought. 

Christmas time had many rabbits, unmarried or married, going out and seeking company, for it was no secret that we as a species were more permissive when it came to that sort of thing than many others. However, due to being dedicated to our partners and working hard for the harvest season, most of us contented ourselves with having illicit affairs on special occasions, like on weekends or holidays. Even now, many picked up an intoxicated, young whippersnapper of a buck from the local tavern or some old geezer wandering around the dark alleyways of the township. But how I, Fergus Jeremiah Hopps, wanted to light up my Christmas spirit, was not with a fellow buck. 

"This year, I just want to find out the truth about the rumors surrounding the forester..."

The very first time I had heard about this mysterious man was when I had been a young buck of 14 years. It had been early in the morning as I was on my way to the outhouse. Oh, how serene and quiet spring morn it was, for no living soul except me was awake. Or so I thought. Soon I could hear someone yelling my name from afar. And lo, if it wasn't my dear neighbor and friend, Thomas "Tom" Lindenmoor. I surely was astonished at how on-point his timing was, but that had to make way for what Tom told me: his older brother, 16-year-old Edmund, had boasted him to have been mounted by a predator. And not by any predator, but by a hermit forester who dwelled somewhere in the depths of Western Woodland. Knowing very well my friend's tendency to be overly fascinated by anything that was related to mating, I deemed Edmund's story to be mere jesting at his little brother's expense. Although Tom first tried to convince me that it was no lie, I took a tough stand, and eventually, he gave up, never to talk about it again. I also didn't want to bring up the story with him for years, for at the age of 18, Edmund was caught red-pawed doing nasty things with one of our local ranch's award-winning pumpkin and got sent somewhere far away by order of the town council. As diverting it was in a way, I didn't want to prolong the Lindenmoor family's grief and ignominy. 

Eighteen years passed by before I heard about this man again. It occurred a month ago, in November, as I had gone out for my weekly cup of mead. As I arrived at my regular tavern, I remarked that the mood was unusually cheery and jolly. When I walked at the bar, I understood why: on my left side, an old, gray buck was rocking on his stool and rambling incoherently. He was surrounded by five younger males who were mocking him.

At first, I ignored the scene. One would come upon many drunkards after a hard week of work. However, the buck (apparently a former farmhand) started to yell something about his ventures with his past masters. Initially, my reaction was to laugh somewhat uneasily along with the others. But then, my expression turned from awkward amusement to bewilderment, as the buck yelled out from the top of his lungs: 

"IF YOU HAVE A BOLD MIND, GO TO THE FORESTER OF WESTERN WOODLAND!"

"Alright, that's it. You've been tellin' this story for three years now, and you should already know that I can't stand it. I'm kickin' you out, just for your own good."

The buck received another round of haughty aspersions when the barman, a young billy goat, strode from behind the counter and grabbed the buck's left arm.

"The hell do ya think you're doin'?" 

"Kickin' you out. Let's go."

"NO, NO! WHY WON'T ANYONE EVER LISTEN T' ME?!"

Eyes glittering like those of a mad man's, the old buck frantically looked around, only to see derisive faces staring and laughing at him before his eyes met mine. He locked his gaze with me, appearing even more insane than before, and then pointed at me. 

"YOU! YOU, YOUNG MAN!" the buck cried out. The whole tavern resounded with laughter, and the tips of my ears turned red from embarrassment. "You interested, huh? Listen carefully, young man... Go to the Western Woodland once the sun goes down, then walk along any small path, and you'll end up at his place in no time. Then, just..."

The goat began to drag the buck out forcefully, all his customers cheering along. But the older man was determined to finish:

"KNOCK ON HIS DOOR AND KINDLY ASK FOR A LOG FROM THE SHED, SO YOU CAN BURN IT AND STAY WARM THROUGH THE NIGHT! HE'S A... A... a..."

Like a dying flame of a candle, the old buck seemed to pass out, his eyes glazing over as the goat opened the entrance door and threw him out, leaving him to sleep outside on the wet cobblestones as the whole tavern hoorayed, raising their glasses. But I, throughout the entire evening, stayed dumbfounded, recalling what I had heard. The seed of curiosity for this mysterious forester had now been deeply planted within me.

Even now, I was repeating the old buck's words in my head, not only to make sure I wouldn't forget them but to also distract myself from all the possible dangers that could have been lurking me all this time. Not that I was particularly scared of the dark; my surroundings just happened to appear eerie than usual. 

For a while, I had sensed that I might be near somebody, but I nearly quit breathing for a second as I noticed that the path had ended. I had found a clearing. In front of me stood two small buildings and a tree stump with an ax stuck onto it. At first, I could hardly make them out, but thankfully the area was so small that as I carefully took a few steps forward, the light on my right paw made me able to see these buildings better: the one on my right side was a shed, and the one on my left was a lodge with no windows. However, there was smoke coming out of its chimney, so someone had to be living here.

I made my way carefully at the front door of the forester's house. Well, I certainly wasn't yet sure if this even was his house, but I had wandered the forest for what it felt like ages, so I wanted to assay. Would the resident be someone else, I would ask them the way to him.

Before making any voice, I reached to the knife that I had been carrying in the left pocket of my winter coat. Unless my memory was playing tricks on me, the forester was a predator, and although one would rarely see any of their kind in Bunnyburrow, I was adequately raised by my community to always keep a wary eye around them. So rogue and deceptive they could be. 

Then, I knocked on the door. Nothing happened. It was midnight, after all, and any reasonable mammal would have already gone to sleep. I tried again, this time harder. And now, I could hear someone stomping inside, which made my body go stiff with dread. How odd it was that even when something one had dreamed of becomes a reality, one would still be too scared to face it. 

I had no time to calm myself down before the door opened, creaking on its hinges and sending shivers down my spine. Now standing in front of me was a mammal at least four times taller than me, wearing what appeared to be brown trousers and a mustard-colored shirt with a hood on it. It hid his eyes, but I could still see his gray snout, paws, and tail. The scent wafting from him was a mixture of the musk of a male canid and old moonshine. There was no doubt; he was a wolf.

He couldn't have been anyone else but the forester.

As I waited for him to say something, I could  _ sense  _ his cold gaze examining me. It was pervasive. Then, he began to speak, with a gruff, tired voice that was nevertheless surprisingly cordial in a weird, fatherly way.

"What d'ye want, cottontail?"

While my body was still petrified, I struggled to come to my senses. As I was looking up to this gigantic specimen, my mouth agape, I slowly began to stutter something incomprehensible, trying to utter the words I had repeated in my head for many days and nights. In spite of my silence, he stayed calm and didn't seem to get frustrated. 

Soon, I had mustered up enough courage to speak up properly. 

"W-well, good night, sir!" I began, taking my paw out of the pocket and making a deep bow. "My name is Fergus Hopps, and I earnestly apologize for waking you up, but I'm in need of a helping paw. See, I was traveling back home and decided to take a short cut through the woods, but got lost. At dawn, I may return safely, but ere that, I'm only asking for a log from your shed, so I can burn it and stay warm through the night lest I get cold." 

Did I do it right? Had I said everything correctly? I could only wait as the silence reigning over us grew heavier and heavier. 

What happened next made me both relieved and unsure: a wide, toothy smile appeared on his face, revealing those sharp, predator fangs I had never seen before. Albeit genuine, I still couldn't wholly interpret it. Was it mischievous? Warm? Deceitful? The most important thing now was that I was sure that he was the forester I had been looking for. Subsequently, my assumption was to be confirmed. 

"Well, Fergus... You've come t' th' right place," the wolf said, sounding a lot less tired than a moment ago. "Make yerself at home, I'm gonna get ye th' log..."

He then walked past me, gesturing me to go inside. I looked after him for a while, still trying to make out his eye are at least, but without success. Then, I entered his house. 

I was pleased that the first thing greeting me was a lit wood stove filling me and my surroundings with warmth. There was no use for my coat and hat anymore, so I took them off and placed them onto a stool on the right side of me. I looked around myself. This lodge appeared to be a small single-room building with a pallet, a table with two benches, and the stool and the stove, as mentioned earlier, while some pots, breadboards, and knives were hanging on the wall. I surmised that a place for relieving and washing oneself could be found in the shed. The smell of a wolf was overpowering, but the whiffs of old wood and, what I only could assume, tar, were still distinguishable. Unfortunately, the fire was the only source of light, so everything was still fairly dark. 

Not knowing if I could take a seat, I walked at the stove and warmed up my paws a bit. 

In less than no time, I could hear the forester's footsteps and the slam of the door behind me. Then, some clinking of a lock. He was back. I turned around and saw him carrying a bunch of logs under his right underarm and a pail full of water on his left paw. As he walked to me, I made an effort to take a glimpse of his eye are again, but, for the second time, without result. 

The wolf laid down the water bucket and put a few logs into the stove, placing the rest under it. However, he spared one and handed it to me. 

"Here's th' log ye were askin'."

"Oh, thank you."

I took the log and probed it a bit. There was no special feeling in it. To be quite honest, I had expected that the words of the old buck were supposed to just hint that I might need some protection from cold, not to  _ literally _ get me a log. Well, in the end, I got both, so there was nothing to complain about. I walked back to the stool and placed it on top of my clothes.

"Y'know, ye can sit on th' bench at th' table, Fergus," the forester suddenly said, taking one of the pots off the wall and placing it on the stove. "If I can call ye that."

"Um, you may. And thank you, I'll sit there."

Next, the wolf picked up the metallic bucket on the floor and filled the pot with water as I took my place on the bench, still very close to him. The lodge was small, after all. 

"I'm gonna make ye some gruel wit' honey. Ye'll need it t' warm up."

"No, you don't-"

"Look, I rarely offer anythin' out o' kindness, so jus' take it. Or d'ye wanna freeze over?"

"...Very well. Thank you."

Not wanting this newfound acquaintanceship to grow awkward, I decided to build up a conversation no matter what. 

"So... you're the forester around here, huh?" I began. "May I call you by name?"

The wolf snorted.

"If I told ye, things could get troublesome fer me..." he answered, and pulled out a small canister out of his pocket. It seemed to be the oat flakes he was going to use for the gruel. "'S not that I don't trust ye, but if I told that t' every mammal I've met, at least one would snitch,

"Understood..." I said. "So, I'm not the only one who's discovered your place?"

"No. I mostly meet trekkers, fowlers, berry pickers. Sometimes I have t' offer help multiple times a day, 'n sometimes I don't see anyone fer weeks. The taxman finds his way here from time t' time somehow, too."

"It must be difficult to be all bereft... I could never live like this."

"That's 'cause yer a rabbit, Fergus. Y'all get used t' masses o' mammals from th' young age. Speakin' o' which, d'ye have kids o' yer own?" 

"Oh, yes, I have."

"Can I ask how many?"

"603 in total. 324 sons and 279 daughters."

"...Well darn. I really can't wrap me head around some o' yer customs."

Like any other rabbit, I had fathered many offspring with my beautiful wife, Matilda. And though I sincerely loved all my children, there was this one thing pestering me, and it was the fact that although I had an unspoken agreement with Matilda that I wouldn't sleep with other women as long as she in return wouldn't sleep with other men, I had been confident for a while that she had been unfaithful to me, for three years ago, she had given birth to a litter of nine kits that didn't look like me at all. I didn't say anything, but within, I felt betrayed. Just imagining that it might have been one of our friends who had serviced her made my blood boil. Moreover, the irony was that before this happened, I had myself indulged in ridiculing those who had gotten the same fate, and, to crown it all, behind their backs. Maybe all of this was a divine intervention for my wrongdoing. But, despite all of my rancor, I still loved my wife and didn't want to kick up a row, for our future as a happy family surpassed my feelings. 

Time went on, and our conversation along with it. Soon the gruel was ready, and just as I had been promised, it did wonders to me. The forester had moved the stool in front of me and lighted his pipe as we continued discussing ourselves and our lives. I didn't want pry into his affairs too much, but apparently, his duties in the Western Woodland included maintaining passes, getting rid of decayed trees, planting new saplings, and so on. When I asked him if he ever traveled outside the forest, he prevaricated, saying that the outside world came to him instead. I suppose that was technically the truth. 

As I had finished my gruel, I placed the plate I had been eating from onto the table behind me.

"I hope ye liked it," the forester said, inserting more tobacco into his pipe and then lighting it. "'S not much, but that's all I can offer fer now."

"Thank you, it was tasty," I answered. 

The wolf had a quick puff, blowing smoke circles into the air. I got the same piercing feeling I had felt when he had opened the door and scrutinized me. Only this time, although still unable to see his eyes, I could sense he wasn't only looking at me, but eyeing me up, which reminded me about why I had sought after him in the first place. I started to feel a bit restless, and he noticed it.

"Somethin' wrong, Fergus?" 

"N-no."

Regardless of my lousy attempt to lie, the forester didn't seem to be provoked. He stayed silent for a while, just smoking, but kept the inquisitive aura around him, making me feel like I was being interrogated. 

"Y'know, lemme ask ye somethin'. How did ye hear about me?"

"...Well, I didn't know about you until just now. I got lost and had to find a place where to warm up, and I happened to stumble upon your house, that's it.

"Then why did ye exactly ask only fer one log? Seems pretty dumb t' me... Another one o' those rabbit ways o' doin' things, hm?"

Now, I had been backed into a corner, feeling mortified for my dishonesty. 

"Let me ask ye another question. And this time, don't lie, I know yer better than that, Fergus," the forester said. His voice was both firm and affectionate, something I had never heard before. "Those mammals who had met me... Was there somethin' special about 'em?"

Had there been something special about Edmund and the old buck in the tavern?

Yes. 

Now I understood. It was terrifying how clear it was now. How had I not noticed before, that the forester of Western Woodland was not a household name? Even all the cabinetmakers I had met in Bunnyburrow had never mentioned any forester, despite that the wood they used was mostly locally produced. 

"They were all male-lovers," the forester said, articulating my thoughts. "'N they all told their secret t' other male-lovers."

I nodded, biting my lip in defeat, but not for long before startling perplexed. 

"Secret..."

"See..."

The forester got up, putting his pipe down before adjusting his hood to be even deeper down over his face. The light beaming from the stove created dancing shadows on his face that highlighted his grin as he turned his attention back to me. 

"...If someone knows about me, he has t' eternally conceal it," he continued, placing his right paw on his crotch. I lowered my gaze and saw a bulge forming on the fabric of his trousers, which both intimidated and intrigued me. "Tellin' about me t' others is a no-no."

"W-why?"

"Well, that's 'cause I'm not yer ordinary wolf. I'm somethin' more exceptional."

"...Um, how so?"

"'Cause I only exist in th'  _ minds _ o' mammals, my dear Fergus. 'N in many different forms, too. Just think about it: right now, I probably seem nonsensical 'n even scary t' ye 'cause o'  _ yer _ unique perspective 'n mindset. But in th' mind o' someone else who never saw this side o' me, I'm somethin' completely different. There's not one forester o' Western Woodland, but many, 'n each time when someone's gone around 'n blurted 'bout me existence t' others, one individual entity o' me dies. How'd that make ye feel like?"

"...I-I can't say that I perfectly understood what you just said, but if that's true, aren't all mammals like that? To you, I probably seem way different than what I look like to my wife or children."

"Exactly! I jus' basically took this whole thing th' extremes. Now that ye get it, without further ado..."

The forester took a step forward and put his left paw on top of my head, caressing it sensually, while his right one was still rubbing his now enormous bulge. But as he moved down on my face with his thumb and tried to put it in my mouth, I had to intervene. I slapped his paw away.

"What makes you think I-"

Then, something I had not been expecting happened. The forester, just as quickly as lightning, lunged at me, not caring that he would bump his head on the edge of the table in the process, and pinned me onto the floor. Now we were both lying on our side. His arms around me were so tight I couldn't do anything but wriggle my legs. At that time, I truly rued that I hadn't been more considerate around a predator. 

"No, no-"

"Tsk tsk tsk..." the forester interrupted, putting his left paw on top of my muzzle to silence me as he began to nuzzle my neck. "'N I thought you'd be more honest wit' yer desires, Fergus. Seems like I have t' help ye out."

The next thing I felt was his right paw sliding under my shirt, groping my stomach and chest before lifting its hem and exposing my torso completely. He caressed my stomach, chest, neck, and shoulder, murmuring something unclear. Then, he gradually moved down. My manhood had been coming out of its sheath for a while, and now that the wolf had started to stroke it through the trouser's thin fabric surface, it ultimately protruded entirely. 

"See, yer instincts know better," he chuckled as he continued to squeeze my crotch. In time, this didn't seem to satisfy him enough, so he did the inevitable and started pulling my trousers down. I put up some resistance by trying to kick him, but he was having none of it.

"Y'know, I'd be glad in yer position. At least I'm givin' ye time t' get used t' this..." the forester snapped before wrapping his legs around mine and thus stopping my pathetic revolt. "Y'know, many years ago, there was this one young bunny who came t' me. He was so dumb 'n arrogant that he didn't even ask fo' a log. No, he dared t' just walk straight in when I opened th' door, 'n then, would ye believe it: th' little brat began t' act all high 'n mighty, speakin' some hogwash 'n vauntin' how easy it was t' find me. And o' lord, Fergus, th' fury I felt at that moment was somethin' I had never felt before. Never had I seen such disrespect. Th' next thing I realized was that I charged at 'im, pinned 'im onto th' floor, 'n ripped 'is clothes off. Yes, I didn't neatly undress 'im like I'm doin' now, I  _ tore ' _ is clothes t' pieces. And then... Well, I did what he had been lookin' fo'. Th' little dimwit screamed 'n blubbered 'is eyes out, but I didn't give a shit. That just encouraged me t' go harder. After I had finished me job, shrunk, 'n gotten off o' 'im, can ye imagine what he did? By th' moon, can ye, Fergus? He thanked me. Smiled, 'n t _ hanked _ me. I was losin' me sanity at this point, so I grabbed 'im by the scruff o' 'is neck 'n kicked 'im out. I could only hope he would lose 'is face by walkin' all around Bunnyburrow in th' buff." 

Finally, my trousers dropped onto the floor, and after the forester had squirmed out of his own pants as well, he began to avidly touch up my privates, saying things like "I've always liked black-'n-white ones" and "You're not scrawny or too plump, you're just perfect." The fingers of the paw over my mouth occasionally strayed into my mouth. As much as I didn't want to admit it to myself, his actions did excite me, and I began to breathe heavier and leak pre. Being dominated by someone so much bigger had its own appeal.

Soon I could feel how the forester lifted us up and adjusted me to sit on his lap. I could feel his long and thick member resting longitudinally between my buttocks, throbbing while waiting eagerly what was about to come. 

"We have th' whole night, but I can't take this anymore, yer too cute," the wolf whispered on my ear. Then, he raised his right paw and spat on it a few times before lowering it back towards my privates. Only this time, he moved past my testicles and found my tailhole. He first pushed one, then two, and finally three fingers into me, and each time I tried to scream my pain away, only to be muffled under his left paw. The forester whispered something consoling in my ears every now and then, assuring me it was necessary and that I was doing better than he had expected.

As I had been stretched enough for his liking, the wolf pulled out his fingers and placed his now free right paw under my thigh. 

"Alright, Fergus, I trust ye now, so I'm goin' t' release yer mouth..." he said. "But I'm gonna hold on t' yer throat. I like when things are under me control, after all..."

Now that I could move my head again, I tried to look down. Disappointedly, I could only see as much as my own lower body and the wolf's legs, for he had just lifted me up a bit. My dissatisfaction was short-lived, however, as I almost immediately felt something oblong being crammed into me.

The forester had begun. At least the tip was already inside, and I groaned in discomfort.

"Aw, man, how can a bunny be this tight... I won't last long, I'll tell ye!" the wolf chuckled, licking his lips. Slowly, but steadily, he forced his way in, pushing my body to the extreme limits inch after another. What I felt was a mixture of lust and discomfort. Presently, the latter hold the upper paw. After all, the biggest ones I regularly rubbed shoulders with belonged to my sheep lovers, but comparing them to the monster that I was now stuffed with was like comparing a thrush to a lofty capercaillie.

It felt like ages, but eventually, the wolf stopped going in, huffing as his whole shaft was now inside me. 

"Darn, 's so good... I'll start now!"

By moving me and his lower body up and down, the forester began to mate with me, sliding slowly in and out while laying kisses on my head. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure and pain through my body, which was something I had never dreamed of. I whimpered, but he didn't seem to care. Instead, he built up his speed until I would moan and scream in agony as my toes curled up and turned white under my fur.

While my pain may have been almost crippling, I couldn't deny that the wolf knew how to handle another male. His movement was so impressively masterful, like that of an experienced man, that he got my behind to squelch so loud it could have competed with the sounds I was making. Furthermore, my member and testicles were on fire even though I hadn't touched them once. But still, there was a small voice of reason in my head that told me to resist, so at times I would try to say something pitiful like "Please stop," or "Don't."

Hearing me pleading for mercy only seemed to whet the forester's flames of passion. He sped up.

"Aw yeah, how d'ye like that?" the wolf grunted with glee. "Would yer wife like t' see her husband gettin' it on with a big bad wolf like me? How'd yer kids feel like if they knew that their daddy goes outside late at night t' get served by anotha man? 'N what about all th' villagers, huh? Imagine the looks on their faces when they'd saw ye walkin' down th' street. Oh, what they'd think o' ye!"

I wasn't sure whether he was unaware of our traditions or just toying with me. 

As the forester kept mumbling something about how much he loved me, my body began to show signs of a climax building up. As my hole began to contract, I got that weird feeling under my abdomen while my breath got heavier and louder. And then, it happened: not being able to warn the wolf because of my current inability to form any intelligible words, I began to shoot my seed in long arcs, the first rope hitting the back of the forester's paw holding my throat while the rest landed on my chest and stomach. As the gush slowed down, some of the liquid still trickled down my member. In the meanwhile, the forester didn't look displeased about my little "surprise" at all, quickly shoveling all the pearl-colored goo into his maw and devouring it. Then, he licked his right paw clean and kept going with the same, ferocious pace as before. 

"Gosh, Fergus, ye taste good! Th' flavors, they're... They're pushin' me off me limits! I think I'm gonna... gonna... I'm gonna come!" 

The forester clutched my throat so tightly I could barely breathe anymore. And then, as he penetrated into me with his whole length for the last time, howling loudly, I winced when I felt something else enter me, like a bulbous chunk of flesh. However, I didn't pay much attention to it. Due to my afterglow, I was now void of pain and wanted to just enjoy his member "siring" and filling me up while listening to his rapid heartbeat accompanied by lecherous panting. Prior to this, it had felt like a savage, callous beast had conquered my body, but at this moment, it became clear to me that the forester was no malefactor. His methods were unmerciful, but his intentions sweet. 

Little did I know at the time that this peaceful state of ours was to be short-lived. While sitting there on his lap, I began to notice that the spherical lump I had felt earlier started to swell so big inside me that the pain came back more agonizing than ever. Cold beads of sweat began to form on my forehead as I convulsed again. I was well-nigh panicking.

"Looks like someone's experiencin' fer th' first time what a  _ knot  _ feels like... Yer adorable," the forester chuckled as he finally let my throat go, hugging me with both of his arms instead. "It might hurt a little, but jus' try t' relax..."

"A little" had to be the underestimate of the century. No, the millennia. There weren't enough words in the English dictionary that could verbalize the pain I felt during those long minutes of my behind being tied into his crotch. While I bawled in anguish, the wolf tried to explain how natural and delightful this moment was. I disagreed. Just as I had felt a deeper connection with him, it had turned out that the brute force he possessed would always come back from its hide and slay my naïve ideals of incurable romance. Maybe I had just become another plaything of his.

It felt like an eon, but then...

"Aw fuck!"

The sound of his member slipping out of my body distantly resembled the pop of removing a cork from a whiskey bottle. It was just wetter. As the canine semen began to drip out of me in rivulets, the forester gave out a weak, compassionate chuckle and carefully lifted me aloft before putting me down again. Now I was laying apron on the floor. 

"I've knocked up so many bitches in me life, but nothin' beats comin' into th' bowels o' another man, I'll tell ye that. Darn, yer ass's good stuff, Fergus!" he said, playing with my scut awhile before leaning forward and canoodling my neck. "I'd like t' meet ye again, preferably soon. Jus' remember that ye can't share, but ye can always come back..."

With that, the fatigue and the physically demanding challenges I had gone through started to take a toll on me, and I began to drift off. Had I been as right as rain, I would've jumped out of my coat when I realized that the floor of the lodge was spinning like a carousel under me, which weirdly made both nauseous and sleepier at the same time. I was unable to reopen my eyes even slightly, and my nose couldn't smell anything. However, perhaps owing to my good sense of hearing, the words of the forester's last words kept echoing spectrally in my ears.

_ "Ye can't share, but ye can always come back..." _

**. ** **. ** **. ** **. **

I had no idea how long I had been sleeping (or if I had been sleeping at all), but as I regained my consciousness, I could immediately tell that I wasn't lying on a wooden surface. I was lying on a blanket of snow. Secondly, I could sense that I was fully clothed. The third thing I felt was the faint ache in my behind that, fortunately, didn't radiate throughout my body anymore. 

I tried to open my eyes to look around but had to close them shortly. The sunrays glimmering through the branches of the trees around me were still too much, and it took a while to get used to how bright things suddenly were. However, my recovery was to be only a brief moment because I became aware of something rough in my right paw. I promptly sat up and, squinting my eyes and blocking some of the light with my left arm as I lifted the object on their level. It was a log. The very same one the forester had given me before, I could tell that by how it felt. Flabbergasted, I looked at the ground around me, and I was relieved to see that my lantern was safe and sound.

It was only inevitable that I would raise my head and notice that I was sitting in the middle of the same glade I had found the previous night. But this time, there was nothing around me. No trace of a cabin nor a shed. Although I had never been your timidest rabbit, my pulse began to quicken as my ears drooped in sheer confusion and terror while my imagination ran wild. 

_ "...If someone knows about me, he has t' eternally conceal it," _

In dread, I picked up my lantern, running back to the track as fast as I could. I kept going until I was out of the woods, and then, once more, I fell onto the snowy ground to catch my breath. 

I decided never to return. I was fortunate enough that after the day of encountering my very own  _ homme fatal _ , I had woken up early enough to be able to sneak into our barn and later tell Matilda that I had been out late celebrating with my friends. She wasn't particularly pleased that I had left her and the children to celebrate Christmas without me, but at least she didn't suspect anything unusual (well, she  _ did  _ frown upon me walking with some difficulty for the next couple of days, but that wasn't  _ unusual _ after holidays). It seemed that I had escaped scot-free. But no. If that old fuddler's chaotic rant in the tavern was enough to have planted a seed of curiosity inside me, spending a night with the wolf and actually getting seeds afforested into me, so to speak, made me so wistful that it was as though within me there was a blustering maelstrom. The obliviousness of other mammals didn't matter because I knew where I had been and what I had done. 

And then there was the log, the physical manifestation of my longing. I had hidden it into our little workshop where some of my sons would later shape up to dexterous craftsmen, bringing honor and pride to the Hopps family and our name. Occasionally, when night came, I would go there all alone and hold that piece of wood in my paws, in fascination that once the forester had been touching it too. At times I would imagine the log transforming into him. Sometimes I would go as far as to take the imaginary forester by the paw and let him lead me to his realm, the Western Woodland again. But, alas, that fantasy never came true. If it had been realized, I'm afraid you wouldn't know all this. The counterforce against my craving for was insecurity and fear, and at the end of the day, it held me still as an act of primal sense of self-preservation. 

And then, as if my cowardice regarding the possible reunion with the forester wasn't enough, one day, I lost the last bit of appreciation for our shared moment together and went out on my way to tell all about him to Tom, my best friend. For some reason, I didn't hesitate to tell my story down to the dirtiest details, and later I even showed him the log. I had broken the rules. I had killed him.

_ "Ye can't share, but ye can always come back..." _

**. **

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"Well, that's a sad ending if I've ever heard one..."

"Talk about it!"

Bunnyburrow, over a century and a half later. Two friends, Gideon Grey and Stu Hopps, Fergus's descendant in the fourth generation, were standing in front of the main entrance to Western Woodland. They had just finished walking a sawdust track three miles long and were now pack at the starting point, in front of a tourist map guide with some pictures and writings of the forest's history. The tod was laying on it with his left flank, scratching his chin.

"I still don't get it, Stu," he said. "Yer tellin' me yer great-great... great..."

"My great-great-grandfather."

"Yeah, yer great-great-grandpa came here and got it on with a wolf that didn't really exist? How can ya not be pissed that such a story's an urban legend here and known by basically everyone?"

"First of all, I never said the forester didn't exist. And second of all, teenage boys telling stories to each other at schoolyards doesn't bug me the slightest! It's just another story among others, and besides, only the Hopps and Lindenmoor families know the story in its entirety."

"Well, I still... Wait, what? 'Just another story?"

"...Yes?"

"Yre tellin' me there's more?"

"Well, yes. The  _ vast _ majority of the old bloodlines and clans of Bunnyburrow have oral tradition and lore about their ancestors'... well, escapes, sexual or not. Especially we bucks have collected tons of them!"

Gideon looked down at the older male, one eyebrow raised in a weirded-out manner. Stu looked back at him with great amusement, waging his finger.

"Don't look at me like that! You'll never know the joy of spending an evening with your buddies and sharing the stories of your lineage to each other."

"You SHARE them to other rabbits?!"

"Well, not just to rabbits. Some sheep and other prey species' families have centuries of history around these lands. And why wouldn't we share them, they're so interesting! Some of my childhood friends have stories from the times when there were knights and mercenaries!"

"You bunnies are a weird bunch."

"And we're proud of it!"

The younger male tried to resist it, but soon his mien turned into a smiling one, and he began to laugh. Stu accompanied him.

"Oh, well..." the younger male went, looking at the ground and forming circles onto the snow with his boots. "It's been fun hearin' all this, even if all of it might not be true... But it's almost 2PM, and I should be goin' back home t' get ready, so I can go and celebrate Christmas with my folks."

"Oh, yeah, right! I'll tell you more another day!" Stu said back, starting to dig up his car keys. But then, he seemed to remember something, smiling slyly and turning his attention back to Gideon. "Wait! I almost forgot! Since our schedules didn't... hm, how should I say, bestow us a little Yule rut, I wrote to Santa in the nick of time to arrange something special. Look up!"

Gideon obeyed his friend. What he saw was a bare, thick oak limb high up in the air, but something was hanging on it. A bouquet consisting of green leaves, white florets, and red berries.

"Oh my, would you look at that!" Stu exclaimed fulsomely. "A mistletoe! Growing naturally this in the year?"

" _ Naturally  _ my ass..." Gideon said. "You can clearly see the green string around its base!"

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss, Gid, it's Christmas! Anyway, you know the deal~"

The middle-aged buck spread his arms wide open, like a toddler wanting to embrace their mother. The fox sighed and shook his head.

"Ya lil' imp."

Gideon stooped down, took hold of the rabbit's armpits, and pulled his friend up before pulling him to a deep, intense kiss. Tongues wandered out of their mouths, saliva was exchanged, and warmth transmitted. A gentle breeze brushed swept over them. Soon the bigger male's strength was starting to fade, however, so he had to broke their tender moment and put the buck back down.

"Merry Christmas, Stu."

"Merry Christmas too, Gideon!"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if the forester's dialect was hard to read, it was the intent. It's also my responsibility if it's inconsistent or just plain wrong in some ways, I wanted to give him kinda archaic, Northern British accent, so yeah.
> 
> In this series, I will write about Gideon's and Stu's lives in and outside Bunnyburrow, but you'll get to see some side-characters as well. The next part will be from Gideon's teenage years when he with his best friend Travis traveled to Zootopia... without their parents' approval.
> 
> If there were some weird, clumsy errors with grammar and whatnot, I apologize since I'm not a native English-speaker.
> 
> All OC characters I've created/will create are free to use.
> 
> Leave kudos if you enjoyed, and comment your thoughts if you got any, they are much appreciated! And merry Xmas! :)


End file.
